Finding the Courage

I've had this post sitting in my Drafts for well over a month.  I haven't had the courage to post it, but since today is a "recognized" day of remembrance for pregnancy and infant loss, well, I found the courage.

Talking about miscarriage is always difficult.  No one really knows what to say to someone who has experienced it, and many times those who have experienced it feel incredibly guilty, even though they shouldn't.  There's no Hallmark card for it.  Okay, there probably is, but you know what I'm getting at.

So here goes...

I found out I was expecting around the end of July.  We were getting ready to go on our big vacation.  I took multiple tests, just to be sure, but it's pretty much true that a positive is a positive.  I felt good on our vacation; just a little more tired than usual.  We came back, I got myself ready to go back to work, and I made sure that I had my initial OB appointment scheduled.  Everything at that appointment seemed to check out just fine.  My doctor gave me the orders for the dating and viability ultrasound, the anatomy scan ultrasound, and the confirmation for my next appointment.  I scheduled the initial ultrasound for Thursday the 5th, because we had the day off from school, but I held off on scheduling the anatomy scan.  I still had quite a few weeks to go before that one would happen, and I just didn't feel comfortable scheduling that yet.

The pregnancy seemed to be going along as "normal" in those first few weeks.  I was feeling sick in the evenings, like I felt with Jacob.  And I was developing quite a few food aversions: bbq, pulled pork, some chicken, spinach...  I was exhausted.  But I was happy and excited.

The Thursday morning of the dating/viability ultrasound, Erik and I got Jacob ready for daycare.  The plan was to drop him off, then I'd meet Erik at his work and we'd go to the ultrasound together.  I'd pick up Jacob a little later, probably after his nap.  I was nervous.  But I always get nervous.  And when we got to the appointment, we had to wait.  For about half an hour.  And I had a full bladder (they tell you to drink 24oz of water before your appointment -- and no bathroom before!).  So I was ready, and a little agitated.  They finally called us back, we exchanged some pleasantries with the technician, and she started the scan.  She asked how far along I was; I told her I was coming up on 11 weeks.  She remarked that my doctor must have sent me for the scan because something wasn't matching up.  I assured her that no, this was what my doctor usually ordered.  She kept insisting that it was because there was an error in dating.  And she told us that she thought so because I may think I was 10 weeks 5 days, but the baby was definitely not measuring that.  But she wouldn't tell us what it was measuring.  She took some pictures, had us get our things together and told us that my doctor would be contacting me that day; and if she didn't, then I should definitely call before the end of the afternoon.  And then she shooed us out of the room. 

As we left, I told Erik that I didn't like any of this.  She didn't show us any images of the baby.  She didn't let us hear the heartbeat.  I cried as we drove back to my car and Erik's work.  We tried to reassure each other.  Jacob didn't measure up with the date that was originally predicted.  I was actually a few weeks behind with him.  So this baby not measuring up was probably the same.  Maybe we didn't get to see pictures or hear the heartbeat because they took me back late, so they were running behind and had to get in another appointment.  Maybe she just forgot.  Erik dropped me off at my car, encouraged me to think positively, and told me to call him as soon as I talked to the doctor, or if I needed anything.

I didn't have to wait long for the doctor to call.  I was home for maybe 20 minutes and my phone rang.  And she told me.

The baby didn't measure up correctly.

There was no heartbeat.

She was sorry.

Could I come into the office at 10:30 to talk about "what next."

Yes.  Okay.  Thank you.

I hung up, shaking, and called Erik.

And I couldn't really get the words out.  It hurt to say it.  (It still hurts to say it.) 

Erik came right home.  We went to the doctor together.  The baby measured at 7 weeks.  At that time, there's a lot of gray area.  Sometimes you can hear the heartbeat, sometimes you can't, but usually you should be able to.  So I had to get some bloodwork done so they could measure my hormone levels.  The doctor probably wouldn't have the results that day, but she'd call Friday morning or early afternoon.  She went over the options with us under the assumption that we lost the baby.  There was a slight -- so incredibly slight -- chance that the scan was wrong and that we hadn't lost the baby, but it didn't look good.

I can't tell you how much I cried on Thursday.  I didn't sleep well that night.  I called in sick on Friday.  We sent Jacob to daycare and I sent Erik to work.  And then I waited for another phone call. 

And it confirmed what my doctor had been pretty sure about. 

And everything you read tells you that miscarriages happen because there's something wrong with the baby, and it's the body's and baby's natural way of taking care of it.  Everyone reminds you of that.  And they remind you that there's nothing you can do or could have done.  But it doesn't stop me from wondering if there was something that I did wrong.  Maybe it was the soda or coffee that wasn't decaf that I had a few times.  Or maybe it was because I moved some desks and boxes around my classroom.  Even if it wasn't any of that, it still hurts to think that my body wasn't capable of providing this baby with what it needed to survive.  That we weren't "compatible."

I'm mad at my body.  I'm mad at it for not keeping this baby safe.  And I'm mad at it now for not letting me forget, because my hormone levels are still not back to "normal."  Every week, I have to either take a pregnancy test or have bloodwork done, and I have to do this until the test shows negative or the bloodwork comes back clear.  I chose the pregnancy test route, because getting stuck in the arm on a weekly basis is not my idea of a good time.  Neither is peeing on a stick.  But it's the lesser of the two evils.  And every week that the test says "positive," "pregnant," "yes" is another week where I am reminded that I will not be feeling baby kicks in the middle of the night, or aches and pains in my back, or the excitement of shopping for that perfect "going home" outfit.  And it's another reminder that I will not hold a smushy-faced little baby at the end of March.

When people find out, they often say that I should be grateful that I have a child already.  And I am.  And I hold him closer every day because of it.  But at the same time, I see in him what could have been.  And that's hard.

So what do I ask of you now that you've read all of this?  Allow a grieving momma to grieve.  It doesn't matter how "early" or how "late" the loss happened -- it happened.  We all grieve at our own pace.  Offer your condolences to that momma and let her know you're there to listen if she needs to talk.  If you are religious, remember that child in your prayers, and pray that his/her momma finds the comfort she might desperately need.  Be sincere.  Be kind.  Be understanding.  Know that it will take some time for her to feel "better."  And don't forget about the dads.  It was their child, too.